Bivouac
by saberivojo
Summary: It's not always bad for Winchesters.  Camping,  stars and a little father son bonding. Characters:  John, Sam and Dean.


Title: Bivouac  
>Characters: Sam, Dean and John<br>Rating: PG  
>Summary: It's not always bad for Winchesters. Camping, stars and a little father son bonding. <p>

Dad called it a training mission. But Dad always called things training. It was as if everything had to be an opportunity to drill home a little more survival skills. Sam didn't care really. He was happy to be out of the city, and oddly enough, happy to be hanging with his father and brother.

Maybe it was the clear sky with stars so plentiful you couldn't count them all. Sam lay back against a log that was perfect as a backrest. They were really roughing it this time though. No sleeping bags, no food but what they caught and hell, Dad didn't even give them matches. But Sam and Dean took Boy Scouts to a whole 'nother level and starting a fire had not been that hard.

All three of them had had luck in the resident trout stream so dinner was fire baked trout with a little bit of wild onion and what looked to be some type of parsley. The fish had been better than anything Sam had eaten in recent history.

The only thing Dad allowed was his small flask of whisky. It wasn't a lot and neither boy was old enough to drink but Dad said it would cut down on whatever bugs weren't killed when they boiled the water to drink so each boy drank watered down Jack Daniels. Dad of course swigged it straight from the flask.

"So, Sammy…what do you think?" Dad asked quietly, his voice a gentle rumble.

"'Bout what?"

"Our training bivouac."

"I think it's crazy that we are bivouacking anywhere but…." Sam grinned softly in the flickering light of the fire, "but it's okay. I mean the fish was great."

His father chuckled then. "Was pretty damn good. Turns out your old man can cook if he has to." 

Dean laughed then. "Yeah but Dad, why does your only 'specialty' have to do with an open fire. Why can't you just make a mean meatloaf like the rest of the dads."

"'Cause I'm not like the rest of the dads…that's something you should remember smart ass." But Dad was smiling and he reached over grabbed Dean by the shoulders and pulled him into a rough hug. Sam watched the playful tussle contentedly until Dad grabbed him too. Both boys were now in each of John Winchesters arms, quasi hug, quasi head lock and Sam actually squeaked a bit as he struggled futilely. It should have made him angry, but Dean wasn't any better off so he just stopped and allowed himself to lay boneless in his father's embrace.

They sat for a minute John in the middle, each boy on either side, breathing just a little heavy with exertion.

Dad pulled them both over so that all three of them were looking at the stars.

"Okay boys…where are we?"

"Uh," Sam looked up in the sky, oriented himself, "We've been heading north and if I remember that map and the amount of hiking we did today, I'd expect we are about 10 miles from Bankers Rock."

"What do you think, Dean?"

"I think my little brother is full of horse shit. I'd say we are closer to five miles away from Bankers."

"Yeah, Dean. That's 'cause you always overestimate everything you do. Best driver, best hunter, hell, best kisser if I believe half of your conquests."

Dad arched an eyebrow in the soft glow of the campfire, "Conquests, eh, son? That's all a girl is to you?"

Sam watched as his brother's face turned red and it wasn't from the heat of the fire.

"Well, no, Dad…not really, it's just well girls are like that box of chocolates that Forrest Gump talked about. There's just too many tastes available to get stuck on just plain chocolate."

Sam shook his head. "Only you would equate girls with chocolates."

"Well, they're sweet and creamy, mocha and white, dark and nutty. Then of course there's the cherry filled…"

"Ahem." John growled just a bit. "I do not need to know about this conversation except to say there better not be any little Winchesters running around. Are we clear?"

"Yes, sir." But Dean was smirking and it was all Sam could do not to giggle. Dean getting slapped down by the old man for talkin' trash. _Stellar!_

"Okay boys, let's hit the rack. Depending on which one of you is right, we have either a short hike tomorrow or a longer one." Dad's eyes glinted mischievously in the glow of the firelight.

"How about we make this interesting? Whoever loses does laundry for a month."

Sam nodded. "Great idea, but then you automatically get out of laundry."

"Yeah, Dad…totally not fair."

"True," John agreed. "So, I say, 8.2 miles to Bankers. So are we on? Loser does the laundry and winner doesn't have dishes for the month. "

"So the winner gets out of laundry and dishes. Second man gets out of laundry and the loser gets the stinky drawers. Sounds good to me." Sam mulled it around. "You're on!"

"It's a deal then." John shook hands with both of them. "Now get your asses to bed."

Sam lay back on the soft pine needles his head scant inches from his brother. He whispered low.

"Why do I get the feeling, I've been had."

"'Cause I'm sure we both have. What do you bet we are 8.2 miles from that damn rock and dad doesn't do dishes or laundry for the month?"

"I'm thinking you're right."

From across the father Sam heard his father's quiet chuckle. "Shut up dishpan hand and laundry boy. The old man needs some sleep."

end


End file.
